


You and I

by Aladayle



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Blackmail, Death, F/M, Now they aren't mistakes, Royalty, The Reader is Arcosian/Icejin/Frost Demon, They're intentional acts, Unhappy Ending, fixing mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a hundred years since Cold's father succeeded in persuading him that he had a duty to his people and his throne, and that he would be doing both a disservice by marrying you. You moved on and never once looked back. But he's never forgotten you, and now that his arranged-marriage wife has died, he begins to entertain the hope of winning you back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Again, using the "Elder Scrolls elves" kind of lifespan for Arcosians. I know, I know, I have too many fics as it is, but I like to get ideas out because if I don't they fester and interfere with my other ideas.

### Prologue

*King Cold's POV* 

(Y/n) never doubted that I would choose her. Not once. 

She was what my father often called "high, but not high enough" because of her having been brought up by working class parents--her current moderate wealth be damned. She was well-educated, she was stunning...and as an artist she made so many beautiful things. Once or twice she even impressed father with her paintings of the palace. 

But it wasn't enough for him. When the time came for me to consider marriage, he sat me down and impressed upon me the importance of marrying well. I was to be the second king in this new dynasty and I could not make just any commoner _Queen_ , no matter how far she had risen. I could not disappoint my family that way, and besides, I could always keep her on as a mistress, couldn't I? 

...I have regretted it every day since, but I listened to him. 

And I will forget neither the look in (y/n)'s eyes when I told her the news, nor the sneer on her face as she made a flat refusal to being anything but my wife. 

I got many congratulations from father for "doing the right thing," but...it was obvious, very quickly, that I'd made a terrible decision. 

The woman he'd chosen for me was nothing but a socialite, and spent most of her time doing what those kinds of women do best. Our first son, Cooler, grew up with all kinds of attachment issues because she never wanted to be around him. And Frieza... 

My little Frieza. 

When he was born and I saw his smile, I realized even more of what I'd done wrong. I realized that it was the first time in years that anyone had genuinely smiled at me. I had a wife that could only see a crown when she looked at me, servants and soldiers who were all scared of me, an older son who had trouble getting close to anyone...and then, suddenly, someone who lit up my life again. They say I spoiled him, but anyone in my position would have done the same. 

* * *

*Your POV*

It had been painful at first, sure. But after a very hard first few weeks, and only a single "I told you so" from your family, you threw yourself into your paintings with a vigor that had dropped virtually to zero during the interruption. Eventually, you met a brash young Arcosian just as much in love with art as you were. There were four children--bitterly, you accepted the praise from your family for "doing your duty for Arcosia"--and once they'd grown you'd started traveling with him again. 

...and then he'd died. 

But you did what you'd learned to do, and went on, channeling that sorrow into your art. 

You found yourself thinking about Cold as you approached the palace. You'd been commissioned to retouch a few ancient paintings in the gallery, and you were trying not to let the memories come back. It had been a hundred years, and he'd likely forgotten you anyway, you kept telling yourself. 

Besides, he was supposed to be in mourning for the Queen. You'd heard she wasn't that nice in life, but what Queens were? 

You were introduced and lead into a conference room. Cold seemed to almost hesitate to speak. 

"The portraits of Saint Frost, I believe?" you asked. 

"Oh...yes. Yes, those were it. They've degraded quite a bit in the last few years, you see, and it's a bit disgraceful to allow such a thing. I don't think I need to tell you that you've got to be careful with them." 

"If anyone knows how to behave around paint, it's me," you said, smiling briefly. "I'll be sure to be done in time for the Ice Festival, I'm sure the court would love to have them displayed." 

"There's no rush," Cold replied quickly, "I know you are capable of working quickly but I would prefer it to be slow and delicate than hastily pushed to completion." 

"Don't worry. Now, I believe you've already got things set up for me to start? I'd prefer to get to work...and I'm sure you've got a thousand other things to do." 

"Of course." 

* * *

*King Cold's POV*

(Y/n) is just as beautiful as the day I last saw her a hundred years ago...and funnily enough, my feelings haven't changed at all. Do I even dare to try? She could very easily rebuff me, but if there's even the slightest chance... 

I have my heirs. Father is dead. 

I have to try.


	2. Midnight Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just want to get the work done and go. It's awkward enough just being in the palace...

### Midnight Oil

It was...strange, being in the palace gallery. As often as you had seen Cold all those years ago, you had never once set foot in the palace--true, you had done paintings of the outside of it, but going in? It was unthinkable. At least, until yesterday, anyway... 

Today, you'd come in early and set up your supplies near the first painting of Saint Frost. 

He was a cartographer, the first to chart the entirety of Arcosia--landwise, anyway. He'd been the first to learn to fly, and had decided to use his abilities for the betterment of his people the only way a map-maker could. 

The painting was at least a thousand years old if not more, and you were being as careful as you possibly could. You'd spent a few hours the day before being sure of which shades of various colors you needed, and-- 

"So they're finally doing it, then?" 

It was a changeling nobleman you'd never met before, and you turned and bowed as best you could considering you were holding a palette. "Yes, the King thought it best to start restoring them." 

"How many are you going to be working on?" 

"This one, the one of St. Frost with his wife, and the one of him in his map room." 

"Ah, only three, then. A pity, really." He left at that, and you shook your head. As the day went by, you found that various noble Arcosians kept entering and leaving the room, the servants besides. Not that you paid them much mind, of course, you were far too busy with your work. 

"Ms. (y/n)?" 

You glanced back. "What? I was just getting started on the background." 

It was a servant, of course. "It's time for the evening meal." 

You sighed, and took off the apron you were wearing and put your things aside--being careful to lock them away in a case you'd requested to be there. It was best not to tempt any of the more capricious young people. 

"It looks wonderful, by the way," the servant said, "I can see why the King chose you for the job." 

"Thank you," you replied as you followed him back to the guest quarters you'd been given, where you cleaned up before turning to follow him again. 

You shook your head as you passed a few other paintings here and there down the hallway, one of the late Queen. She looked every bit her rank, and you could only think that Cold must have loved her, or at least liked her, with all the gold and gemstones coating her general person and dress. She looked pleased with herself in the portrait, so you thought that along with beauty, she was likely-- 

"Ms. (y/n)?" 

"Oh--I'm sorry. What did you ask?" 

"Are you enjoying your time here so far?" 

"Of course. But my work's consumed things, so..." 

At first, you were allowed to eat alone in peace, in a little alcove near the kitchens, a spot outfitted with a table, and you were getting up to go back when you saw a familiar shadow at the end of the hallway. 

Great. It wasn't that you were trying to avoid him, it was just that...there was just something about seeing him in the palace that didn't feel right. Maybe it was your having gotten used to the idea that you didn't belong there... 

You were unable to do it this time, though, and Cold approached you with what looked like genial confidence. "Well, it appears I have been caught." 

"What, sneaking to the kitchens for a snack before you've even had dinner?" 

"I wasn't particularly anxious to sit around and converse with a bunch of nobles at a table," he replied, "It looks like you've already eaten, though?" 

"Yes...I was just going to get back to work." 

"As I said before, there is no hurry." 

"I simply want to be out of everyone's way as soon as I can," you said. You walked on down the hall and found to your mild irritation that Cold was following you, along with his three or four guards. 

"You are in no one's way." 

"You say that now, but I bet you're going to have complaints from some of the ladies about 'that girl tending the paintings.'" You laughed. "I remember being bothered by some of them the second time I painted a view of the castle from the north side, as if I had no right to do it." 

"There will always be people like that. Unfortunately, the more traditional group will always have a problem with _something_." 

"It's best to appease them," You said, shrugging, "It causes less trouble that way." 

"A bit of trouble can be easily handled. You've not been hassled, have you?" 

"No. A few curious questions, but no one has said anything untoward." 

You'd walked somewhat quickly to get back to the gallery, and felt more than a little uncomfortable when he stayed to watch. 

It reminded you a little too much of the last time he'd done it. 

That was the day... 

No. You were not here to start thinking about the past, and in any case you had work to do. 

He stayed for half an hour or so before leaving wordlessly. Maybe he'd remembered as well...no, you thought. If you'd mentioned it, he probably wouldn't have a clue what you were talking about. 

* * *

A few hours went by and you were sure it was well past midnight when you packed your supplies into the case and headed back to your quarters. 

"Ow!" 

You stumbled back. "I'm sorry, I was working late on the--" 

"No, no, it's me, I couldn't sleep anyway." 

You looked up. "Oh, Lord Cooler." So this was Cold's elder son...he looked every bit as strait-laced as the news portrayed him to be. Good heavens, he walked like he had a steel rod for a spine, his posture was that rigid. 

"Hardly." 

"My condolences for your mother's death, by the way. It was only recent--" 

"Don't even mention that," he said quickly. 

"I'm sorry, I only thought--" 

"Well, _don't_ , alright? I don't care what anyone else here tells you, she wasn't worth mourning unless you were a jeweler..." And in a lower voice that you suspect he thought you couldn't hear, he added, "...they should've burned the bitch instead of freezing her after she died." 

How much sleep was he not getting, talking like this? 

"I...ah..." 

He sighed, rubbing his . "Go, just...just go." 

Well. That was... 

You rushed off and as you got back to your quarters found yourself wondering about what Cooler had let fall. His mother wasn't worth mourning? He'd even gone so far as to call her... 

There wasn't room for you to be satisfied that the woman was as unpleasant as you had heard. That wouldn't do anyone any good, and besides, it was bad for the karma to take pleasure in such things. 

You'd be out of here soon anyway. The first portrait was nearly done, and there were only two more to go. 

The past was past, and you left it there for a reason.


	3. Devilish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your work continues, and you start avoiding Cold more. However, you run into someone else while working...

### Devilish

At first you'd thought it was mere coincidence. You ran into Cold fairly often, but thought that maybe you were just using the paths through the castle that he favored. You changed the way you walked to and from your rooms and the kitchens and the gallery and such, and after a few days started to encounter him again.

It couldn't be a coincidence, and by the fifth straight day of it you were beginning to wonder what he was trying to accomplish. 

The second painting turned out to be more difficult than the first, and after a week you had still barely made any headway on it due to the fact that the older paint had started flaking off when you using certain brushes. This was going to take a while, obviously...but, like a lot of your work, it would be worth it. To restore something of this age, of so important a person...ah, you could feel your artistic side squeeing at the thought of completing this work. If it took you weeks, you'd do it. 

That was just how you were. 

You found yourself lost for hours on end, mentally acknowledging that people were coming into and out of the room, yet marking them "unimportant" and going about your work. 

The Ice Festival was getting nearer, however. It had started as a bit of a joke to mark the beginning of a week's worth of winter holidays, and had just turned into a joyous holiday in its own right. 

You just wanted to be out of the palace before it got here. Two more weeks and you'd be stuck in the middle of it. 

* * *

"So you're the one father's been mooning about." 

As you were just settling back in after the evening meal, you heard the even, disinterested voice, and when you looked back, you saw Cold's younger son. 

"Lord Frieza," you replied, bowing a little awkwardly under that severe gaze, "I hadn't expected the pleasure." 

He was silent, as if studying you, but only for a moment before saying, "I can't see what all the fuss is about." 

"...what do you mean?" 

"Oh, he hasn't told you?" he laughed, "He always was rather an idiot when it came to women." 

You held your tongue. 

"A solid agreement if ever I saw one," he replied, laughing a bit, "A bit of a sad story involved, isn't there?" 

"Hardly," you replied, turning back to the painting, "Only youthful optimism and reality." 

"An artist _would_ say something like that," he replied, stepping a bit closer. You got the idea that he probably doesn't like talking at someone whose back is turned. 

"We tend to, yes," you replied quietly, "But we are a funny group, then. Spend a lot of time dreaming...sadly, something those of your rank have so little time to do." 

"I would hardly call not wasting time _sad_ ," he huffed. You could swear that you hear his tail twitching...just like Cold, wasn't he? At least, in little mannerisms like that, anyway. "You women, you're all the same." 

"I suppose we are." 

He laughed. "You seem so young to have had the lifespan you already have. If I didn't know better, I would think you were my age." 

"My thanks for the compliment," you said, keeping your eyes on the painting. Why didn't he simply leave? You gave a brief sigh and took a chance, "And my condolences on the death of your mother." 

"That you can say those words at all shows that you never knew her," He replied with an edge in his voice, "But considering she was your rival for my father's affections, it's a surprise to me." 

"She and I were never in the same social circles," you said, feeling a bit of relief as you looked over the finally-touched-up map table in the portrait, "I wouldn't have met her unless by a freak accident. And I think I can safely say that I was never a rival of hers. She was the obvious choice from the beginning." 

"Oh, my, do I detect bitterness?" Was he _enjoying_ bringing these things up? It was as if he'd gotten all the worst bits of his mother (a real bitch, you'd heard from further palace gossip) and the mannerisms of his father. What a horrible combination. 

"I bear no ill will to either of them for it." you replied. 

"Don't you?" 

"No. I don't. What good would that do me? I was happy in the end anyway." 

"Were you?" 

You stopped, and turned back to face him, feeling a pinch of anger at the sight of that little smirk on his face. 

"I suppose that answers my question." He laughed once again. "To think, you were so close to being lucky enough to be my mother. Both a pity and a boon, I'd say." 

"In what way, my Lord?" Dear gods, you just hoped this little imp would go away and stop poking at delicate issues you were still trying not to think about. 

"You would have witnessed so much of my glory, as the pity...and as the boon, well...I like older women." 

"I have _clothes_ older than you," you laughed, though privately you were rolling your eyes. Dear lord, he was just as flirtatious as Cold had been, and twice as bad at it. 

"Frieza, what are you doing in here?" 

You were, for once, relieved to hear Cold's voice. 

"Observing the artist, of course. The portrait is coming along nicely." Just like that--the switch was turned. Proper, respectful, and detached tone. 

"You have work to do," he said. 

"Ah, fine, I'll leave you two alone, then. And father, do try not to make a fool of yourself." 

You breathed a deep sigh of relief as he left. 

"Ah, my apologies," Cold said, now turning toward you, "I was trying to be sure he didn't bother you." 

"He was no bother," you shrugged, putting away your supplies into their little cases, "Though he reminds me of you." 

"I'm...sorry if he's caused you any discomfort," he said quickly, "He's...not exactly known for keeping his discretion." 

"That one will give you trouble. My eldest was like that...one girl after another, until he found the right one. Married her last year." 

"Are they all married?" 

"All but the youngest. She's trying to become a writer. Romantic novels, of all things." You were both leaving the gallery at this point, and walking down the long hallway that would proceed to several more. 

"If she has half your talent I don't doubt she'll do well." 

"Thank you." He was following you. Why was he following you?! 

The conversation continued like that--casual, light--but inwardly you were growing impatient. If what Frieza had said was true, Cold was still very much interested in you. But why was he being so hesitant to say something, if that was the case? Perhaps he rightly guessed that the feeling was not mutual. 

As you entered the hallway where your small quarters were, he spoke up again, "Youthful optimism and reality, then?" 

So he'd been listening to the whole thing, had he? This was beginning to get a little creepy, to be quite honest. What, did he think it would be charming? It was anything but. 

"Let me say this only," you said. The door to your quarters was in sight. Finally, you'd at least have a few hours without worrying if he was watching or not. "You taught me a lesson. Hard at first, but one I needed. One should not stray from their place in life, it never ends well." 

"I didn't want to-" he started. 

"But you did. You did what was asked, demanded of you." 

Silence. 

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, exactly. Do you think that following me around like a lost pup is going to help your case?" 

Again, silence. 

"That I'd just fall right back into your arms, now that the Queen is gone?" 

"You can't just--" 

"I can," you replied, "I don't hate you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just glad you showed me the way things work." 

"...what do you mean by that?" 

"The palace was not for me." You shook your head as you reached the door, finally. "I simply don't belong here." 

"(Y/n)--" 

"No. My answer is no. Please just stop following me, stop...all of it. The feigned interest, everything." 

As you disappeared into your room, there was a gleam in his eye. 

* * *

*King Cold's POV* 

A lost pup, she says. 

I think I've been going about this the wrong way...


	4. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were ready to just get through this and go, but things can really never be simple, can they.

### Forgotten

You were _incredibly_ glad when you reached the halfway point on the third portrait. 

Aside from being watched by Cold most of the time, you had the occasional snarky remark from Frieza. Once or twice you'd meet Cooler, too, but he was fairly quiet. 

But as the Ice Festival neared, you started to feel... 

Well...claustrophobic. 

* * *

"Grandma, we want to see you." The tiny head bobbed as its owner put on a grin. "I got bigger!" 

"Yes, Cicly, you did." Your second son, (s/n), laughed as he tried to hold the squirming child still. "Has everything been going well there at the palace?" 

"Of course it has. I'm definitely going to be done in time...y'hear me, Cicly?" 

"Yay! Grandma's going to be home for Winter Day!" And at that, he rushed off, presumably to tell his two brothers about it. 

"Neverending energy," your son said, shaking his head. "I bet you're glad you can send them home when they come to visit." 

"Of course not. I like the company." 

"I have four and Crystallo has five...and three of those are triplets." 

"The nurses were very happy with that as I recall, weren't they?" 

He laughed, "Yes, of course. The two his husband had were rare enough, but then they found he was having three...you should've heard the jokes at the office! 'I know we need to rebuild the population after the war, but you two don't have to do it all by yourselves!'" 

"Right. Makes me glad that I had mine and the pressure's off," you said, "I loved all of you, of course, but I'm happy just being a grandmother now." 

"I think I'm done at four, to be quite honest," (s/n) replied, "Like you. I think any more than that would seriously impact our ability to give them the proper amount of care and attention. Oh, and (daughter's name) sold one of her books!" 

"Which one was it?" 

"The one about you and dad." 

You shook your head. When your daughter was quite young, you'd told her the story of how you'd met her father. In short, that you had just gotten over someone else when he showed up--young, energetic, and not tied down by any titles or anything. He was a landscape painter and spent most of his time traveling to different locations to get the best possible images. Last you'd heard your daughter talking about it, the plot was a typical sort of story about an artist and a bad boy. Not that it mattered--the ladies at court loved those kinds of men and bought books like that like they were going out of style. Cliches didn't become cliche by being unpopular, after all! 

"Right..." you sighed, shaking your head. 

"Well...I've got to go. Cicly is complaining that he's hungry. Try not to work too hard." 

"You know I will." 

The video-chat window flickered off, and you got up feeling at least a little better. It was nice to hear from your children now and again. Now that they'd grown up, they had so much less time and each call was happily received. And their kids...you could remember Crystallo and his husband birthing theirs all too well. The amount of praise--the same as you'd gotten--for "doing their duty for Arcosia" had been enraging. They couldn't simply be happy over the babies, no, they had to make a fuss over the benefits they would bring, and wondering how many _they_ would have. As if young Arcosians didn't already have enough pressure on them! 

You went straight to the portrait, skipping breakfast entirely. Right now you didn't want to see much of anyone, you just wanted to work. Which is exactly what you did for the next few hours, until you noticed a familiar shadow being cast over you. 

"You really shouldn't skip meals, you know." 

"I just wasn't hungry, that's all. And besides, it's nearly done." 

Cold went silent. 

"It's coming together well, isn't it?" 

Nothing. 

"I thought so too." 

Nothing. 

You looked down to your palette and sighed. "How long are we going to play this game?" 

"Until you tell me that you forgive me." 

"I forgave you long ago. That I do it on your terms is not a requirement." 

"If you've forgiven me then why have you been avoiding me, (y/n)?" 

You put the palette down and turned to face him. "I think the better question is, why have you been following me?" You crossed your arms at that. "Don't you have better things to do?" 

Silence again...although this time, he looked more upset than stunned. 

"You have your heirs, produced by a mother who hailed from a good bloodline. What possible use could you have for me now?" 

"I want now what I wanted then. And unlike then, I intend to have it." 

"I may not hate you for what happened, but I don't feel as I did then. You can't _force_ me to love you." 

"There's a lot I can do," he replied, smirking slightly, "Do you recall what happened to Lady Perma's family?" 

Ah, yes. Everyone knew about that. Lady Perma was someone who (along with most of her family) had planned an insurrection, a coup--and who had been reported, naturally, by some anonymous soul still loyal to the crown.

The Arcosians did not believe in capital punishment. But of course treason and plotting murder were not things to be taken lightly. Instead, Lady Perma and those of her family found to be guilty were stripped of their respective ranks, their wealth, and their properties. These were then distributed mostly to the innocent members of the family, but naturally a sizeable tax was levied, and Cold had claimed one of the mansions as a summer home. The guilty parties were reduced to moving planets or in Perma's case-- _systems_ away to find any kind of work. This naturally invited return attacks, but...Cold was shrewd and had yet to be taken down. 

"You..." A look of horror struck your face. "You wouldn't." What had happened to him? This wasn't the Cold you knew...you'd expected change, but _this_... 

"It would be a pity if your family were linked to Perma's latest attempt on my life." 

"You--!" 

"But...it could be...overlooked," he said, ending the sentence in a low tone, "I am not difficult to keep happy. All I want is my (y/n) back, you know. So I can get back the chance I foolishly squandered years ago." 

You could barely believe it. He was threatening you...no, not just you, but your entire family. Your children. Theirs. All lives disrupted because... 

Cold extended his hand. 

Infuriated and shaking with rage, you took it.


	5. Such Beautiful Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold couldn't be happier. You, on the other hand...you just want to go back to before you even walked into the palace.

### Such Beautiful Shirts

Cold changed after that. There were no more sad expressions; instead, there were more outright-gloating kind of smirks. 

And you couldn't understand it. 

He'd never been like this before. A hundred years ago, you would have laughed at anyone who told you that he would be so manipulative. As a royal, you might have thought he'd have to be hard to deal with sometimes in order to rule, but this just went far beyond that. You thought that you knew him, that you knew what he was back then. Had that charming personality been only a facade? 

In a way, you were now almost glad he'd married the late Queen instead of you. What a delightfully awful pair they must have been; it was no wonder that Cooler and Frieza were so...different. 

You were both incredibly glad and incredibly anxious when you finished the last painting--all of which, by the way, looked stunning--because you weren't sure what was going to happen next. The socially accepted mourning period for a spouse, particularly in the heavily traditional royal court was one year. It had only been three and a half months--for him. What did he honestly expect to happen in the near future? Would he even--? 

"Oh, mother, it's _beautiful_ ," you heard. 

And turning back, you saw--your daughter (d/n). 

"(D/n!)" you said in surprise, hugging her once you'd set your palette aside. "When did you--?" 

"Just this morning. I wanted to surprise you." She grinned, and you couldn't help but return the expression. "You look tired, are you alright?" 

"I am a bit tired, these took a lot of work. Tons of paint...if it weren't for the money, it might have been hard to keep going." 

"But I thought you...enjoyed it?" 

"I do, but you can still be frustrated by the process." 

You smiled again. Your daughter was still learning, it seemed. She was an adult, true, but still finding things out about life. And you still enjoyed teaching her. 

Her scales were a light blue, like yours, but instead of the white biogems you had--hers were an aqua-green shade and they gave her an almost oceanic look. 

"So what are you going to do next?" 

"I don't know...probably clean up, and head back home for the holidays." 

"Didn't you hear?" 

"Hear what?" You stopped and looked at her, wondering...had he already...would he honestly have--? 

"One of Crystallo's kids had scale pox, and they didn't find out until after everyone had gotten together a couple days ago. They started getting the spots...and now the rest of the kids have it. So do half the adults who didn't get it when they were kids." 

"How did you not end up getting it?" 

"I was talking to my publisher, and...well, you know I don't like crowded houses," she said, "I'd gotten a hotel room and was just waking up when Crystallo gave me the call to not come over." 

Great. Just great. First this thing with Cold, now you weren't going to be able to spend holidays with your family...how could it possibly get any worse? 

"Well, well, I see two lovely ladies before a finished work of art." 

Oh. 

That. 

You and your daughter both turned towards...Frieza. 

Great. Just great. 

"A pleasure to meet you," your daughter said, bowing briefly. 

Frieza said nothing. 

Oh, no. 

Oh no, no, no. 

* * *

The news got around to Cold and he caught you right as you were having what was meant to be your last meal in the castle a few hours later. Your daughter was...well, when you left her (along with some of the guards and servants in the gallery), was discussing which wines went best with certain foods. Why they were engaging in conversation like that, you weren't sure--she was hardly old enough to have that kind of expertise in wine. That they were conversing at all was a worry...but she'd told you she wasn't hungry so she'd decided to stay there and keep talking to him. 

"A pity that it had to happen that way." 

"Yes...normally I would spend the time with them. But not to be able to go into my own house..." 

"What, you never had that pox yourself?" Cold laughed. 

"Not once." 

"Lucky girl, then. I never had either, until Frieza got it, then of course he passed it to Cooler..." 

"Children tend to do that. Oh, and speaking of Frieza..." 

"He hasn't been bothering you, has he?" 

"No, no, he came by earlier, and my daughter was telling me about the situation at home, and...well..." 

"Oh, my..." 

Did he _have_ to look so satisfied? 

"I've heard he's rather willful," you said, looking up. 

"He can be," came the softer reply, "But he has taken fancies to many a girl with little consequence resulting." 

"A sucker for a pretty face?" 

"He seems to have bad luck and gets the girls who are nothing but a pretty face. 'They're always angels...until they open their mouths and speak. Then they become vapid, self-absorbed little creatures whose worlds evaporate over a missed earring,' he's said." 

"I don't know," you shrugged, "When I left they were covering the topic of wine. I would call my daughter anything but vapid. Still..." 

"Do you have a problem with the idea of it?" 

"They've only just met. I think doing any planning at all would be extremely premature..." 

"And?" 

"And my family is not a noble one." 

"I had become aware of the fact. But I would say, if it happens, it happens. Both could use good company." 

"And what does Frieza look for in a woman, exactly?" _Please, just let it not be anything (d/n)..._

"Good looks, a brain, and nice legs." 

"...really." 

"Yes, really. Now, off the topic of your daughter..." 

"Yes, of course." You sighed and looked back up at him. 

"You know...I hardly meant to come across as mean as I did." 

"My family are precious to me. How could you not know that was what you were doing when you spoke of them that way?" You hated having to dance around it, but having servants nearby, well...you didn't want word to spread of what you were saying. You already had enough problems as it was. 

"I knew what I had with you, (y/n), and I wanted it back no matter the cost." 

"I can't promise that things will be the same as they were." Your family. You were doing this for your family. 

"You haven't changed a bit." 

"But I have," you replied, "If this has to happen, then I would rather not be put on a pedestal that I sat on a hundred years ago, because I'm not the same person anymore." 

"Well, then, considering you won't be going home for the holidays, there's ample time to talk and discover how we've both changed." 

"You can't expect to get away with doing that for the holidays with a woman virtually unknown to the court, during the mourning period--" 

"It can be played off as our discussing our children. You know as well as I do that their being seen together will start rumors. People will see us together as us endorsing the idea." 

"That might work for a day. Not during the holidays." 

As you finished your meal, and stood to leave, he followed your motion and walked down the hall with you. 

"The court knows you as an old friend of mine. It would be no more than that, if more people ask." 

"An...old friend." You could barely believe it. How could something like that have been kept quiet? 

"Yes, father...had the whole thing covered up very well. You were a tutor of my age that I befriended, and after our respective weddings we just got too busy to speak." 

You shook your head. What a mess... 

"But with you here, again..." 

The conversation went on. But all you could think was...why had you had to accept this job? What had possessed you to go near him again? 

Well, either way, at least your family was going to be alright.


	6. Ashley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made it so the age of adulthood is 30 for Arcosians.

### Ashley

The night before Winter Day, it snowed profusely.

Of course, there was no chance of being stuck in the palace due to the almost immediately cleaning up of major walking routes, but you were definitely feeling that way. After (daughter's name) showed up, you were moved to different quarters--not in the same ones, or side-by-side, but in the same general hallway, so you were seeing her quite as often as you used to.

You'd never told her, or any of your children really, about this situation with Cold. Not the bit about his choosing someone else, or the more recent threats to ruin your family's livelihood. 

He didn't speak to her very frequently, but whenever he "accidentally" ran into you, he was sure to tell you of how well she and Frieza were getting on.

This time was no different. You ran into Cold on your way out to the courtyard, where a number of little tents and such had been set up with various entertainments had been set up. You were hoping the distraction would help ease your increasingly nervous state.

"They seem to have taken quite the shine to one another," he said in a happy tone. 

"She's young, as is he, and he is refined and sure of himself," you replied, "It would be more surprising if they were indifferent to one another."

"I seem to recall that that was the reason you liked me. I behaved like a gentleman and was confident."

You just nodded. He had been, at first. You can still remember that the first time you'd met was actually at one of these Ice Festival tents, where you were selling some of your paintings of varying people enjoying the winter landscape. Gods, how hard it had been to get a place in your courtyard...but you'd done it. Had to bribe somebody with a free family portrait, but you'd done it. You'd been willing to do almost anything to get your art out there.

As you stepped out into the courtyard, you adjusted your scarf and headed for one of the beverage stands--noting that Cold walked away from you once you were outside. Of course--he knew when to be separated from you. Wouldn't want people thinking that he wasn't still in mourning, after all.

It was a bit of a trigger to the memory, to be quite honest. But you shoved the feeling aside, bought your coffee, and started looking through what the different stands had to offer. Fried food, baked food, and what seemed like every kind of dessert that could possibly exist. And then there were the non-food tents with crafts, paintings, and other-- 

"(D/n)?" 

Your daughter had a tent up and a table full of her books ready. And it looked like she was doing good business, the line was three or four people deep. 

"When did this happen?" you asked. 

"Oh, someone backed out last minute," she replied, "Or something like that. Lord Frieza told me about it, and got his father to arrange it." 

Once she'd finished with the other customers you stepped into the tent next to her. "You really shouldn't just accept favors like that. It tends to create feelings of obligation." 

"Mom, you worry too much. And besides, he's kind of cute. What harm would there be in it?" 

"You can't just base your judgment of him off his looks. You're old enough to know this by now. Favors like this have prices, you know." 

Your daughter rolled her eyes. "We already 'worked something out,' so stop worrying." 

"And what, exactly, did you work out?" Ye gods, she just didn't seem to get it. Sure, maybe you were being a little overprotective, but still...you just didn't want her getting taken advantage of. 

"I'll just be joining him for the Glacial Ball. Isn't it exciting?" she grinned. 

The Glacial Ball. (D/n) said that like it was nothing. It was _the_ social event of the winter holidays, the one people were practically willing to hock their souls to get into, the kind of event where just being seen there did wonders for your social standing. And your daughter was Frieza's date to this event. 

"Yes...yes, it is." You feigned a smile. "Just be careful, alright? If he's anything like his father, he'll be very flirty." 

"Oh my god, mom, are we really having this talk _now_?" (D/n) stopped to deal with a few customers and then went on talking to you. "I know how to take care of myself." 

"But--" 

"Mom, I don't need you hovering over me. I don't need you to get into everyone I date; I'm not a kid anymore. I'm 34 and I've been of age for FOUR YEARS NOW!" 

"(D/n)--" 

"I'll only say this once. If I want to have sex, I _do not need your approval_." 

You couldn't find any words, nodded, and simply left. She was determined, it seemed, to do as she pleased. Weakly, you smiled to yourself at the thought. She was a lot like you. But for her to get as angry as she had, you certainly hadn't expected. 

What'd gotten into her? 

* * *

At the end of the day you'd gone back to to your room, had a quick nap, and had dinner. As you were heading back... 

"I heard that you had a problem earlier." 

Ugh. Cold wasn't even _trying_ not to be subtle anymore. He was just turning up whenever he pleased, whether or not you wanted him to. 

"Problem?" you asked. You continued to walk, hoping to be rid of him soon. 

"A disagreement with your daughter." 

Oh, and now he knew about it too. This was wonderful. 

"I was merely warning her, as any mother might. Young men do have a tendency to...inspire young women to behave strangely. And being his date to the Glacial Ball, well..." 

"I thought it might be good for the both of them." 

"...what?" You looked up, unable to hide the bit of anger in your eyes. "You're the one who--" 

"I was merely trying to help (d/n) out. She expressed an eagerness to have a place in the festivities, and Frieza wanted her company. They're both happy with it--why aren't you?" 

"I'm just looking out for her." 

Anger was now creeping into his voice. "Is my son not good enough for her?" 

"I never said that. I'm just trying to prevent feelings from being hurt." Finally, you reached the door to your room, but you saw (with no small amount of horror) that Cold was following you in. 

"Hers? Are you honestly saying that Frieza's that kind of a man?" Cold's arms crossed. 

"I'm saying he's young and probably doesn't know any better. Everyone makes mistakes when they're at that age." 

"You make it sound like casual dating is a bad thing." he laughed...or at least, tried to. It sounded more like he was poking fun at your view on this than just outright being inclined to be happy about something. 

"I just don't--" 

"You don't want this to happen, period, and I'll bet it's because of me. It's because you don't want to have anything to do with me. Right?" 

Well, he was _sort of_ right. 

"I didn't--" 

"You're making this more difficult than it has to be. Things could be so much better than they are, but you're pushing back at every turn." 

"Because I don't love you anymore. And blackmailing me isn't going to change that, it's just going to make me hate you more." Your tone was getting venomous and you knew you really should shut up, but he was just asking for it. 

"You don't hate me." 

"Yes," you growled, "I do. I thought I knew you. I thought you were someone I wouldn't mind sharing a life with. I was wrong. You're nothing but a boorish, conniving, tyrannical--" 

Cold stepped forward and in a split-second the back of his hand was meeting the side of your face. You fell back against the wall, groaning in pain as the stinging in your face began. 

"My patience only goes so far," he said in a curt tone, looking down at you contemptuously, "If you do this again, I will make good on my promise regarding our little agreement. Do you understand?" 

A few tears began to fall at that. It was impossible to keep them in. "Yes. I understand." 

"I am willing to make up for the past, but I can't do it if you won't let me." 

You just nodded. 

"I can only guess," he said, his tone suddenly going pleasant again, "That you, perhaps, feel a little left out, considering your daughter's invitation. If that's the case, I would be happy for you to accompany me to the Glacial Ball." 

"You're supposed to be in mourning," you said, rubbing the quickly-forming red spot on your face. "People are going to ask questions. You're going to get some very pointed opinions on this." And honestly, you wouldn't be blaming them at all. He wouldn't even wait out the mourning period, no, he simply had to make clear that you were his _right now_. As awful as she might have been, the thought stuck with you that his late wife deserved better than this. 

"I've gone with other women before she died, and I see no reason for it to be otherwise now that she has. You're just an old friend in the public's eyes, after all. Perhaps I wanted to stay back but you insisted I not act reclusive and agreed to go with me so I'd feel obligated to go." 

"Fine," you said, "I'll go." You could play it off somehow, if anyone asked you about this. You were just a friend at the moment. That's all. You were sincerely doubting that _anyone_ would buy that story, but Cold wasn't giving you much of a choice in the matter. 

"You'll be happy to go, you mean." 

"Yes...that. I'm sorry." 

He took your hand, kissed it, and then turned to leave with something of a spring in his step. 

And you continued to think on how he'd changed. Maybe he'd always been like this, and he'd only ever shown you his good side. But then, maybe his situation had changed him...or exacerbated the tendencies that he had not had the full authority to act on before. Who knew, really... 

All you could hope was that Frieza was not nearly so determined to get your daughter as Cold was to get you.


	7. Spiced Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, during an argument, Cold lets a bit of information drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death ahead, folks.

### Spiced Wine

Your daughter got busier after that, though whether it was related to her books or to Frieza, you weren't sure. The next day saw the delivery of rather a lovely dress, and you assumed it had come from him. It looked as if she would fall into the same trap you had...you only hoped that since she appeared to be doing it willingly, things might turn out better.

But of course you said nothing to Cold. He seemed to have the idea that you owed him for every little thing, and still you wondered when this change had come over him. When had he turned from the sweet young man to the tyrannical king? When had he started approaching problems like this?

The day after, you went out to the festival stands again. Your daughter's booth had moved.

Funny, she hadn't told you about that...

You smiled to yourself as you passed a few of the wine booths. Cold never liked wine when he was younger--you could remember that he found it too bitter, or too sweet, or too alcoholic-tasting...basically, a long list of excuses. That seemed to have changed now, however...

You had a similar thought when you passed other vendors. Each thing seemed to give you a memory to consider fondly, and after what seemed like the fifth or sixth one, you began to realize what was really wrong with this whole situation--or rather, what was responsible.

The memories that were from the past were virtually nothing to you now. Cold had never let go of them. He saw you not as you were now, changed by the past, but as a relic of what _could_ have been. You represented the path that he wished he'd taken, something that, if he could obtain it, would make everything as if it had always been that way. In his mind, anyway. 

He didn't want you as you were now, but as you were then. He wanted to erase his mistake.

You kept walking, looking for your daughter's booth and occasionally admiring the general splendor, while not being particularly interested in any actual buying. Dancers here, artists there, food to be had in every row of tents...

"Ms. (Y/n)?"

It was a quick sort of voice, and you turned to look at its owner. They were an average-sized grey-and-black Arcosian, and were dressed in a palace guard's uniform.

"Is something wrong?" you asked.

"Well, no," came the reply, "His highness was just looking for you, was all. Something about wanting to assign you a personal guard."

To control where you would be, no doubt. His behavior was bordering--no, had crossed it--on the obsessive. 

"If I may...is there something wrong? Have any threats been made against you?" 

"No," you said, turning to follow him back. 

"It's just that you've seemed uncomfortable, and..." 

"It's the holidays, and I'm spending it apart from my family," you said quietly. 

"Ah...I see." 

As you were lead back into one of the smaller palace courtyards, you wondered what justification Cold would offer for this new bit of nonsense. Probably the same as he had tried before, that he was trying to make things up to you. If only you'd let him! 

You were so sick of hearing it. So tired of seeing him look at you like a possession. So done with his pretending that this was all normal. 

When you arrived in what appeared to be a small (well, small when one considered Cold's height) gazebo he looked up with a smile that you were unable to return. The ill feeling didn't lessen at that expression...if anything, it got worse. 

"Are you unwell?" he asked. 

"Yes," you replied quickly, taking a seat across from him, "I haven't for a little while now. I...hope I'm not coming down with anything." 

"At this time of year? That would be terrible." 

You just nodded, and went silent. This was all so forced--all you wanted was to be at home with your family, and here Cold was, having done everything he could to keep you _here_. True, there was very little you could do about actually going home, but you'd really almost rather be taking care of the others who were sick than being here with someone you didn't even want to think of anymore, much less look at. 

His gentle tone, his kindness, all of it, was a lie you wanted no part of. 

"(Y/n)?" 

You looked up with no small amount of effort. 

"What's really wrong?" 

You glanced away. 

"I always did know when you were lying to me." 

He had. It was one of the things that you'd considered cute back then--he'd catch you on some little white lie, and scold you with a smile on his face about being honest. But it was always little things, things that didn't matter, things you... 

"I can't do this," you said suddenly, standing up. 

Cold's look of absent fondness faded instantly into a thin-lipped glare. "Excuse me?" 

You didn't answer, and instead kept walking, paying no attention to the fact that he was following you and kept asking...well, you weren't listening, to be honest. Once or twice he made demands about how he could improve this, or that... 

When you finally got back to your room, you didn't bother locking the door. If you had to argue it was best to do it privately anyway. 

Cold barged in absolutely fuming. "What did you mean by that display? Are you trying to make me look like an idiot?!" 

You didn't reply. What answer could you possibly give that he wouldn't get more angry simply by hearing it? 

"You're not making this easy, (y/n). I want this to work, and I've given you gods only know how many luxuries that--" 

"I never wanted them," you replied, "I am not the woman your wife was." 

"Is that what this is about? My wife? You're still upset over that?" Cold looked first incredulous, and then, strangely, almost relieved. 

"No. I don't care about her, really. I never did, no matter what your son hints at." You shrugged, and added, "You made her happy, and really, that's all that matters." 

"I never wanted to." His fists clenched and unclenched. 

"But you did," you replied, looking up at him, "You were capable of making a choice and you chose to make her happy, instead of yourself. You made a mistake." 

"And I've been paying for it every day since then. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I was wrong to pick her over you?" 

You shook your head. "All I want to hear is '(Y/n), you can go home.' That's all. I don't want to be here. I don't want to see you again. I know you want to act like nothing ever happened, but things just don't work that way." 

"I am NOT letting you get away again." Cold was practically seething, "Do you understand me? I didn't get rid of her just for you to--" 

" _What_?!" you were shocked to hear that come out of his mouth. Did he just...did he mean that..? "...got rid of her?" 

He went silent, refusing to speak and in doing so only confirming your suspicions. 

"You kil--murdered her," you growled, "You _monster_ , you killed your own wife because she was a barrier to what you wanted? That's...that's it. I can't stay here, not with someone like you, not anymore. It's over. No, it's not over, it never began. I am not nor will I ever be interested in reconciling with you." 

Guilt, shame, hatred, all of them overwhelmed you as you started to turn away. But before you could even really begin to feel the weight of what Cold had just implied, you once more felt the back of his hand against your face. 

You stumbled and fell-- 

\--there was a burst of pain in the back of your head, weakness, and then...nothing. 

* * *

*King Cold's POV* 

It's been a year since we gave (y/n)'s body to the ice, and I've been torn about my part in it all. I was fully intending to kill her, but making her suffer, like I did with my wife and that wine she insisted on imbibing every day. 

I didn't want her to die so quickly. 

But she did, and I was able to sweep it all under the rug, as they say. 

Her daughter was understandably upset and spent most of the rest of the holiday in mourning. Frieza, of course, was there as a shoulder to cry on--and no doubt, to take advantage of the situation. 

After a few weeks, (daughter's name)'s brother came to collect her, and I offered my condolences on the death of his mother. He thanked me, and left with (d/n). 

Frieza continued to speak openly and frequently with her, despite growing murmurings about "the prince's involvement with an untitled girl of no importance." It's another punch in the stomach, to see him pursuing her freely, when I had not the bravery to do the same with (y/n). 

He's going to get my blessing. If I can't be happy, at least my Frieza can be.


End file.
